


The Things I've Left Unsaid

by fluffernutter8



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Steggy Positivity Week 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-08 04:01:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11073654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffernutter8/pseuds/fluffernutter8
Summary: Steve tries to plan a date. Things don't go quite as planned.





	The Things I've Left Unsaid

There are plenty of great things about actually getting to date Peggy Carter. Their snatched moments during the war might have made his breath catch and left him with sweet dreams, but bunker lights and night operations were so dim that he is only now finding out how truly dazzling her smile is, and war rationing had made it impossible to know that she always got an extra scoop of ice cream and didn’t have any shame about stealing from his too.

He’d just like all that discovery better if they actually got to go on regular dates.

He’s proud as hell of Peggy for the work she’s doing, and furious about what she has to put up with to try to get anything done, and, strangely, a little relieved that she refuses to let him pull strings to help her out. But their work together during the war was just that: together. The things they’d done– sitting, heads bent, for strategy sessions, and passing each other you’re–not–quite–supposed–to–have–this information– had been in such proximity to each other, revolving around the same goals, the same focus, that he’s finding the separation of their lives unexpectedly difficult. There are things she can’t tell him or forgets he doesn’t know. There are places she goes that she can’t take him, and times where she’s gone for so long, working, that he doesn’t quite know what to do.

He knows it’s his problem, though. He’s the one who chose to leave the shield and uniform life behind, after losing Bucky and a year of his life under the ice. He’s sure as hell not going to blow up at her for doing her work and doing it better than the next ten guys, including him. He wouldn’t give her up for anything, especially not his ego; it’s just a little harder than he’d thought it would be.

So he does this instead: plans dates for the two of them, postpones them if necessary, tries to add that bit of sweetness to their lives. They’ve done park picnics (Steve kept the picnic set he’d bought) and baseball games (Peggy forgot the name of every player, asked him about every rule, and kept calling the team the Doggies, until he caught a touch of a smile just as his head was going to blow off around the fourth inning and she switched to yelling down at the field with him). But tonight, he’s gone simpler, just dinner, a movie, and then dancing after.

That’s the idea at least.

Mrs. Fry doesn’t like him much. He’s sort of used to that in general– he still gets looks around his neighborhood from guys who don’t dare beat on him anymore but still remember Steve Rogers mouthing off to them for years– but usually he’s polite enough not to get stone-eyed glares from older ladies. He made sure to press hard with the iron and shine his shoes beforehand, so she lets him take Peggy, with just the usual fifteen minutes of pointed questioning. He gives his usual polite answers, Peggy adds in her charm, and they’re on their way.

They can already hear the fullness of the restaurant from the street, and the host tells them apologetically that it will be at least a few minutes before their table is ready. He offers them a drink in the meantime, and they corner themselves by the bar, small-talking about the latest annoyance in Peggy’s office, and the ongoing drama with Steve’s next door neighbors and their son who likes stray animals a bit too much.

After about ten minutes, they get the signal that they can come sit. Steve has just let Peggy slide in front of him when behind him he hears a loud, “Marge!” A hand comes down with what Steve thinks is meant to be force on his shoulder, and the voice says, “And Steve-o! Good to see ya.”

Jack Thompson, who Steve’s met a couple of times before, has just come over, a blonde beside him. Jack seems to have been enjoying the bar already, and is attempting false joviality, or maybe everything just looks false on his face. His date has enormous owl eyes and a killer grip on her handbag. Steve and Peggy trade glances, wondering if she’s some sort of unassuming assassin, or if she just wants to be able to get a good wallop if Jack gets handsy.

Peggy nods crisply and says, “Nice to see you, but I’m afraid we have to find our table now.” She starts to step away, and Steve follows, admiring that easy way she’d handled things, and the fact that she’d managed to make the “nice to see you” part not sound like a _complete_ lie.

“Now, well, wait a minute, Marge.” Thompson steps to follow her, dragging his date along with. “This place is pretty full up, and it’ll be a while before we get someplace to sit.”

“Plenty of other restaurants in town,” Steve says blandly. “I’ll make you a list.”

“Nice of you, nice of you,” Thompson says, clapping Steve on the shoulder again. “But how ‘bout instead we just make it four at your table, make things easier on everyone?”

Steve and Peggy both open their mouths to object, but the waiter has overheard and, although he says nothing, Steve was a waiter once too and the guy looks honestly a little desperate to winnow down the standing crowd a bit. Steve turns toward Peggy, who gives a resigned nod to the waiter, who brings a couple of extra chairs, which is how they end up crammed around a table with Jack Thompson and his date, who’s apparently named Belinda, although her voice is so quiet when she introduces herself that Steve can barely be sure.

“My aunt and her aunt do...something together,” says Thompson, waving a hand before starting to saw into his steak. Best thing he’s done all night, in Steve’s opinion, not looking for a soup course. “Knitting or gardens, something.”

Belinda fills in softly, “They’re library ladies at St. Anthony’s in Queens. They bring the book cart around to the patients most afternoons.”

Steve smiles. “That’s important work. There was one winter when Sister Mary Rose and her regular deliveries of Alexandre Dumas were the only way I made it through to spring.”

Peggy places a hand over his on the table, and when he turns to her, he sees the rise of affection covering her face. “I think it’s a little late to thank Mr. Dumas, but I might try to see if Sister Mary Rose is still around.”

“You know nuns,” Steve says, voice just as low. “Those rulers keep ‘em upright forever.”

“Yeah, I forgot you had all those problems as a kid,” says Thompson. “But I guess you really turned it around.”

He glances over at Belinda as if trying to decide if she can put things together by herself or if she needs it spelled out for her, and Steve can nearly feel something inside him saying, “ _Enough_.” Thompson has crashed their date just so he could get to a table a little sooner, and shown little kindness at all to Belinda, who seems perfectly nice. But it’s too much, the idea of Thompson just coming out in the middle of a crowded restaurant and even hinting that Steve’s Captain America, especially when that’s barely even true anymore; as if Steve wants to be anyone these days but a guy who has a little easier time setting things right.

“Sh–” Thompson says suddenly, choking himself off as people look over at him. Steve knows better, glancing over at Peggy instead, who holds her fork daintily and stares across the table in a politely puzzled way. He drops his chin and twitches aside the tablecloth in time to see her foot move away from Thompson’s shoe. She’d ground it in hard enough to leave a scuff mark, though. Steve stifles a smile.

Steve had been imagining a nightmare where Thompson would try to tag along with them for the rest of the evening and Steve and Peggy would have to duel it out over who would get to set him straight. Somehow, though, his better sense has prevailed and they basically ignore each other as they divide up the check.

Peggy and Belinda return from the powder room, and Peggy takes Steve’s arm. The smile he gives her comes automatically, but not without meaning. He loves days without army regulations, nights without espionage, the simplicity of her open hand touching him.

“Nice to meet you,” Steve says to Belinda.

“Have a good evening,” Peggy adds, then turns to Thompson and simply says, “Monday,” before guiding Steve toward their favorite movie theater.

“You think he’ll be able to decode that?” Steve asks as they walk. The night is warm enough that the gray suit coat he wore feels a bit much, but he’s distracted by Peggy’s hand still tucked against his arm and the waves of the ruffled bottom of her dark purple dress as she walks.

“Thompson can be a brute and a snake and a terrible date, but he’s not stupid,” Peggy says placidly. “He can recognize a threat, likely better than the next man.” They cross the street toward the glow of the marquee. “I offered Belinda a chance to come with us and she declined. Apparently she felt it ‘a woman’s job’ to see the thing through.” Steve looks at her and finds her that her face reflects his: half admiring the wherewithal, half dismayed at the reasoning. “But I told her that if things didn’t improve during the rest of the evening, I could make things equally unpleasant for Thompson at work.”

“ _Equally_ unpleasant? To a date with that guy?”

Peggy makes a quick nod of understanding. “Well, I can be extremely creative. So, nearly as unpleasant, at least.”

They arrive at the theater in such a timely manner, that it feels like something of a sign that things are finally going right. Steve pays for the tickets, doesn’t forget to stop for popcorn, and they manage to get good seats for the 9 o’clock showing of the latest Thin Man movie. Peggy’s fond of them, so it had seemed the perfect thing when he saw it in the paper.

Their unofficial pact is to wait to eat the popcorn until the movie actually starts, but they both brush half absentminded hands near the carton through the ads and the newsreel and the cartoon. Finally the music cues up for the feature, and they reach for the box at the same time. They’re too busy glancing at each other to notice that something’s awry on the screen.

“Sorry, folks,” announces an usher a minute later. “Somehow the reels got damaged. Not to worry, though, we have something else all cued up.”

Steve likes Mary Astor and the new actress Elizabeth Taylor, but the alleged comedy they’re in is half depressing and half sentimental and not worthy of either of them. He sinks down in his seat a little bit; it’s certainly not his fault, and Peggy’s not storming out, and the film isn’t that bad, but he had a plan for this. He and Peggy get a quick cup of coffee together at the automat as often as they can, and nearly every time he’s wonderfully surprised to see her there across from him. She’s impressive, and he wanted to impress her tonight, and so far he feels that he’s failing.

“What was your favorite part?” Peggy asks as they walk out afterward. “The part where everyone had to give up the dreams they once had, or the supposed happy ending where they celebrated the father getting to keep the job he doesn’t even enjoy?”

Steve’s real favorite part– really the only bright spot of the whole affair– had been his gradual clasping of Peggy’s hand, but he doesn’t think that’s what she means. “Hey, you know I always like a story where having a sick kid means the end of the world.”

He says it lightly, hiding the barest hint of pain, and her tone nearly matches his as she responds, “About as much as I like one where a pregnancy puts a stop to the things a woman wants to do.”

They both give small, ruffling shrugs, hers likely about the topic at hand, his partially in place of a wince. First a double date with Thompson, then a movie that hit them both in just the sorest places. If the rest of the night keeps going like this, space aliens are going to blow up the dance hall.

Luckily, it looks untouched when they arrive. They’ve gone dancing before, here and elsewhere. The first time was practically as soon as he was released from the hospital, the two of them turning quiet circles while everyone laughed around them. Since then, there’s been enough improvement (mostly on Steve’s part; Howard had made Peggy light, comfortable shoes with a metal frame to protect her feet from his first efforts) for them to become a little more adventurous; last time, they’d done so much swinging, Peggy’s quick spin and the confidence of Steve’s arms, that they’d ended the night breathless and laughing. But Steve’s not really in the mood for that kind of dancing tonight. He likes the idea of holding her, of getting this date to finally take a turn for the better just because he gets to have her in his arms.

The band’s playing a Nat King Cole song as they come in, and they blend immediately among the swaying couples. For the first time tonight, Steve actually relaxes. This is what he was hoping for tonight, just a quiet moment with Peggy at his side.

Her head rests on his shoulder, as the band changes over to Frank Sinatra. Steve leans over so he can sing very softly in her ear.

“So lucky to be the one you run to see in the evening, when the day is through,” and she spans so perfect in his arms. He feels so lucky to be here, holding her like this, feeling her smile against his throat, and then her shoulders begin to shake.

He pulls back immediately, wracking his brain for any reason she might be crying in the middle of the dance floor. “Peggy?” He keeps his voice down, but knows that his shoulders and hands are desperately spelling out alarm.

Until he finally focuses on her face, and sees that she’s laughing.

“I’m so sorry,” she says on a gasp. “This is–” She covers her mouth with her fingers, but he can still see her smile pressing out. “You have many talents, my darling, but singing isn’t among them.”

Steve knows this, has known this since Bucky told him in the second grade, and could hold up as proof the memories of every Mass and school performance his mother had winced through. But after the night he’s already had, he doesn’t want to hear it and certainly doesn’t feel like laughing it off.

“I think I’m done for the night. You ready to get out of here?” he says stiffly, already heading toward the door.

Peggy catches his hand as he pushes through the crowd but he ignores her, and the crowd’s chattering so loudly that she doesn’t try to talk beyond his name until they’re outside. The street has a bit of a strange smell, trading sweat and floor polish for standing water and gasoline, and Steve can see a beginning layer of fog, but even the city sounds are muffled. “Steve,” she repeats. “I didn’t mean to insult you, truly. I understand that you’re upset, but is it really worth ending the night here just because I was…less than mannerly?”

The way she looks at him usually brings him around to her way of thinking, but now he just throws up his hands. “It isn’t just that, Peggy! Nothing tonight happened how I wanted it to. I had a plan for all this, and maybe it wasn’t fancy, but it was supposed to be a nice night, and everything that happened was just...disappointing.” He shoves his hands into his pockets and makes to turn away from her.

She grabs his wrist again and when he stops, she says, very simply, “Since we met, I’ve never known you to stick to a plan. _We’ve_ certainly never done so. Tonight might have been a bit unpredictable, but things are by no means ruined.”

The doors crash open behind them, and another couple comes out, the flash of music disappearing as the doors swing shut again.

“Johnny!” says the woman, reaching to grab his hand. “It was dark, Johnny, I swear I didn’t know he was your brother!” Johnny shakes her off and storms away down the alley, head down, while she tries to chase him without her heels getting caught in the pavement.

Steve and Peggy both stare down into the darkness for a minute. “Well,” says Steve eventually. “Things definitely aren’t ruined like that.”

“That you know of,” Peggy returns devilishly.

“Lucky I don’t have a brother, I guess,” Steve says absently, but something else fills his mind: the image of the woman grabbing onto her man’s arm, matching the way Peggy grabbed his. And what strikes him isn’t that his and Peggy’s troubles are lesser than those of other couples, but that they get to have the same sorts of fights, storming out and making up and holding onto each other. They’ve been lucky enough, struggled and survived enough, to get to this place, where he can feel secure about griping about not seeing her enough and getting upset over a few things gone wrong on a date.

They’ve achieved that normalcy, and it suddenly delights him. It’s like Sinatra was singing: Time after time, he tells himself how very lucky he is to be loving her.

“Let’s go back,” he says suddenly, wrapping his fingers around hers using the anchor to pull them closer together. “I think I still have a few more dances in me.”

“Are you sure?” Peggy says, but even in the dim streetlight, he can see her begin to smile.

“Yeah. We’ve got the night together. Let’s not waste it.” He wraps an arm around her waist, in love with the ease of it.

“I think I’ll be free Wednesday night as well,” she murmurs. “In case you wanted to give this a second try.”

“I’m tying Thompson to a chair,” Steve says immediately. “And keeping a good eye on the projectionist. But this part–” He holds open the door for her. “This part is actually turning out pretty perfect.”

And they move back inside for another dance together .

**Author's Note:**

> Written for day 6 of Steggy Positivity Week. No idea why I picked Sinatra.


End file.
